


Coming Home

by CosmicGutter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Light-Hearted, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-24 09:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicGutter/pseuds/CosmicGutter
Summary: Crowley has been living in his quiet cottage in Tadfield for 6 years now, tending to his garden and his flower shop. He's enjoying his peace and quiet, happy to be away from his over-bearing family, their corrupt company, and the general business that is London. He's got his small business, a close friend and good wine, and is certain he could want for nothing more (ignoring the dull ache he finds in his chest sometimes.) That is, until a tartan-wrapped blue-eyed angel moves in next door to him, and Crowley has to navigate new feelings he's never experienced before.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is the first real fanfiction I've ever written. I have the majority of it planned out, and I hope to keep updates fairly regular. I'm an absolute slut for fluffy domestic fics, sooo. That's what this is going to be. Possibly some minor angst sprinkled in, but nothing out boys can't handle! There will be smut in later chapters, I can assure you, so I'll change the rating and add characters as I go.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the first chapter, thanks for clicking!

The sun was bright and the air was crisp. Morning dew still lingered on the grass in the garden, and Crowley savored the cool feeling of it on his bare feet. Still in his black pajamas and silk robe, with a coffee in hand, he strolled through his small corner of Eden, admiring the fresh blooms of his lilacs. They were always the first to come out in the spring, and he adored the sweet smell of them in the air. He paused to watch a fat bumble bee blunder through the hedges, and appreciated the silence around him. 

Not for the first time, he was grateful that he left the city behind 6 years ago. There was always noise in London. Cars honking, sirens, people, all the people, all the time. And there was never any space to breathe. His only solace was the indoor jungle of his flat, but even then, it was too cramped to house all the various plants he collected. And he could never be outside unless it was in a park, which never had the peaceful silence of country life. All in all, he didn’t miss it much. 

He moved his attention over to his hydrangeas, which should be starting to bloom any day now, and frowned slightly. The buds were nowhere near ready to open. He sighed, and crouched down to eye level with the shrub. 

“Now listen here” he started, in a tone slightly too dark for the beautiful morning around him. “If you don’t get your lazy arses in gear soon, we are going to have some _big problems_,” he threatened, leveling the buds with a glare. He sipped his coffee, not taking his eyes away from the offending plant. (He had to assert his dominance, after all, otherwise everything would descend into chaos, and then where would they be?) _“Bloom. Faster.”_ He hissed, and stood back up, satisfied with his intimidation. He used to go all out, screaming and cursing wildly at his plants, but since his life became less stressful he stuck more to disciplined intimidation and idle threats. It still seemed to do the trick just as well, and his blood pressure was probably quite thankful for the change. 

He peered over the low line of rose bushes that separated his yard from the only neighboring house next to his. In the six years that he’s lived in Tadfield, the "FOR SALE” sign never once changed in front of the cottage next to his. Until last Tuesday that is, when he noticed a new “SOLD” sticker slapped over the front. He sighed for the second time that morning in contempt. He was not keen on the idea of having neighbors. He had been lucky so far to live in a more secluded area of the town, with only a vacant lot next to him and forest of the other side, and he really wasn’t excited to see that change. _What if they had kids, or were (ugh) friendly?_ He shuddered at the image of a stereotypical nuclear family walking into his yard and trying to engage in friendly small talk, their children trampling over his garden. 

He was half-way through mentally planning a six-foot-high fence around his property when his thoughts were interrupted by a large moving truck pulling up in front of the house. He walked back to his front porch to sit in the shade and glower at the vehicle, sipping his coffee with menace. Two men left the truck and immediately started bustling about bringing boxes and moving furniture into the home. It was all fairly dated things, slightly mismatched, and looked to be antiques. 

5 minutes later, a taxi pulled up behind the truck, and a light-haired man jumped out, thanking the driver profusely and waving him off. 

_Good lord,_ Crowley thought. The man couldn’t have been older than 40, and yet he dressed like a 70-year-old professor from the 1950s. He was wearing a worn beige overcoat, a brown vest underneath, and _oh sweet gods of fashion,_ a tartan bowtie laced up snuggly against his neck. He had small round spectacles perched on his nose, which he took off and tucked into a pocket to admire his new home. 

A small mewing sound caught Crowley’s attention, and he noticed that the man was carrying a blue crate with holes in it, which he set on the ground and spoke to gently, wiggling his fingers through the small gated door. Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste – he was never very fond of cats, and they usually felt the same about him. 

Like most people, Crowley had the bad habit of forming quick opinions of people without much thought, and as he downed the last of his coffee, he mourned the loss of his well-being now that he was undoubtedly stuck next to a posh, stuck up snobby man with no good fashion sense. He threw one last sneer towards the moving van, blew a loose strand of fallen hair from his eyes, and went back inside. 

\- 

Aziraphale walked back into his new home some hours later, the moving men having just left after dropping all his boxes indoors and setting his furniture where he specified. He wiggled his way through the maze of boxes to let his orange tabby Loki out of the bathroom, now that the commotion had settled down a bit. The feline poked his head out slightly wary, but very quickly set about to jumping on boxes and knocking things down. _Some things never change,_ Aziraphale thought, looking at his pet with a mix of love and exasperation. 

Aziraphale studied his new surroundings. The place certainly seemed much smaller now that it was full of his belongings. _Well, most of them._ He thought a tad bitterly towards the few rare and expensive books he had to sell in order to afford the place, and all the others he had to part with due to the downgrade in space. He brushed off the thought - what’s done is done - and set about unpacking. 

After 3 and a half hours and a quick snack break, it was nearing mid-afternoon and Aziraphale was starting to run out of steam. He had managed to get his bed set up, all the dry food put into cupboards, and most of his books on the shelves. He heard a loud THWUMP behind him and turned to see Loki with an innocent expression on his face, sitting where 3 books used to be on a shelf beside the fireplace. Aziraphale glared at the animal, who in turned cocked his head with a “Mrr?” He checked his wristwatch and noted that it was indeed nearing the cat's dinner time. Which, if he was not on top of, meant his books would slowly collect on the floor until Loki was fed. 

“Why on Earth I put up with you, I’ll never know,” he grumbled, without any anger behind it at all. He rifled through a cabinet in search of a tin of cat food, and spent 15 minutes digging through unmarked boxes in search of a dish. The entire time Loki alternated between knocking down books, or weaving between Aziraphale’s feet and almost tripping him. 

“There you are my handsome boy,” he said, putting the dish of wet food on the floor for the impatient cat, who immediately began wolfing it down as if he’d been starving for days. Aziraphale crouched down in front of him, “You have no appreciation for your food, do you? Don’t even stop to savor it.” He pet the cat, scratching behind his ears, “You know I get specialty flavours, different every time, yeah? It’s all the same to you, it’s gone in 20 seconds anyways.” Loki paid him no mind, pushing the empty dish around, trying to lick up the last morsels of food. 

Aziraphale stood back up, groaning with the few pops his knees and back made in protest, and begrudgingly set back to unpacking a few more boxes. It wasn’t long before he had quite enough, and decided he was officially done for the day. He picked up a stack of flattened boxes from against the wall, and opened his front door to put them in the large blue recycling bin at the end of his drive-way. With his arms full he wasn’t quite as fast with getting the door closed, and Loki took this opportunity to slither past him and dart wildly throughout the yard. 

“Hey!” Aziraphale yelled after him, struggling with the cardboard in his arms. Loki stopped and looked back at him playfully. He always did this, tested his limits, got Aziraphale to chase him until he was ready to be caught. Aziraphale dropped the flattened boxes on the front steps and jogged over to his cat who, right when Aziraphale almost got a hold of him, darted away. “Oh you sly bugger, get back here,” he laughed. The cat ran out onto the sidewalk, and wormed his way into a thick bush of lilacs, disappearing into his neighbors' yard. 

“Oh my scrumptious darling boy, what ever are you doing over there?” He sang out, crouching ‘round the corner of the floral hedges in search of his tabby. Instead, he was met with a pair of black boots. 

“Watering my... roses...? You...?” A voice above him said, clearly confused and not sure how to respond to such a question. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, and stood up straight, blushing furiously. He was about to apologize for interrupting and trespassing when the words were damn near knocked out of his chest. Standing in front of him had to be one of the most gorgeous men Aziraphale had ever seen. He was only a couple inches taller than himself, but unlike Aziraphale who was all soft curves and stocky of stature, this man was lean and angular. He had sharp cheekbones, slim hips (his gaze flickered down involuntarily, and he brought it back up as quickly as possible in what he hoped was a discreet manner), and a head of long, shockingly red curls. His eyes were unfortunately hidden behind a pair of dark round sunglasses. Aziraphale stared for what felt like minutes, but in reality was probably only around 3 seconds or so, before the man in front of him jumped and looked down at his feet to find an orange tabby winding his way between his ankles. 

“What the devil-” He started, surprised and also a little disgruntled about having his crisp black trousers covered in orange fur. 

“There you are, my dear!” Aziraphale bent down to pick up the offending feline, who purred happily and climbed up onto Aziraphale’s shoulders to drape himself comfortably. “Dreadfully sorry about Loki here,” he turned back to the man, who was glowering down at his pant leg but snapped his attention up once Aziraphale started speaking, “I’m afraid he’s always up to some sort of mischief this one.” He scratched under the cats' chin affectionately. 

“...Well, name like that, what do you expect?” The man asked, eyeing the cat with suspicion. 

“Oh yes, I do believe I brought that on myself." Aziraphale chuckled. He planted a kiss on the cat's cheek, who in turn jumped off his shoulders and ran through the strangers' yard, through a line of rose bushes and sat on the front steps of his new cottage to watch the two men. 

“Anyway,” Aziraphale turned back to the red-haired man, “My name is Aziraphale. Quite a mouthful, yes I know, my parents were a tad bible-crazy, what can you do.” He extended his hand towards the stranger. 

After a beat the man passed his garden hose to his left hand, and shook the others’ gently. “...Crowley. Er, Anthony Crowley, but no one calls me that unless I’ve gone and pissed them off.” 

“Well Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled, his hand still lingering in the other's palm, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”


	2. Chapter Two

Crowley stepped into his cottage, shutting the door behind him. He stood in the entrance, staring blankly ahead and trying to process what the hell just happened. One moment he’s watering his roses, admiring the evening dusk settling in, and the next he’s staring into the most brilliant blue eyes he’s ever seen. 

Crowley had spent most of his day sulking (though he’d never call it that), doing his rounds of watering, misting, fertilizing and pruning of the flora around his home. He tried to work off some of his negative energy by lecturing some of his plants, but his heart wasn’t really in any of the threats. He changed tactics and decided to scrub his bathroom and kitchen, and catch up on some laundry. Being a Saturday, his shop was closed. He’d done all the necessary watering and cleaning Friday evening after closing, so there was no reason to go in today. He did make a mental note to stop in Sunday evening to get a few floral arrangements ready for early pick-up on Monday, but otherwise he had a full weekend off. 

With so much free time, he spent most of his afternoon doing various landscaping around his garden. He checked on the small pond in his back yard, feeding the fish and making sure the water was at all the proper levels. Before he knew it, the sky was growing a purple-orange colour, and Crowley’s stomach was noticeably empty. He decided to do a quick watering of his roses up front, then decide on dinner. 

He’d been determined to hate his new neighbor, but that all drained away the instant he saw the man – Aziraphale – up close. Poor fashion choices aside, the man was bloody beautiful. All soft curves and sunshine, with fluffy hair like a cloud. The way he smiled was, for lack of better words, angelic. Crowley was thankful for his shades at that moment, since they hid his eyes roaming all over the man's soft features. 

Crowley was fairly certain he blacked out for a moment after shaking Aziraphale’s hand, which tingled strangely for a few moments after letting go. He mentally shook himself, and tried to refocus on the words coming out of those soft looking lips. 

“- bought the house on a bit of a whim, and I haven’t really been through town much,” Aziraphale was interrupted by his stomach growling loudly. He pat his belly lightly, cheeks darkening slightly, “Ah, and, I haven’t got much for food, and I don’t know any of the restaurants...” He trailed off slightly, looking around. 

“Deja Brew!” Crowley blurted out suddenly. Aziraphale blinked up at him. Crowley cleared his throat, “Er, Deja Brew,” he blushed slightly, fidgeting. “It’s a little local café, they make excellent soup and sandwiches, along with the most sinfully delicious baked goods in town. Also, the best cup of coffee around” 

“Well!” Aziraphale brightened at that, perking up especially at the baked goods, “I suppose I should take a stroll into town for a quick bite.” 

Crowley stared at him a moment, before awkwardly stuttering out “I ah, I have a, a car, if you like.” His mouth seemed to be moving without permission from his brain. _What the hell is going on here?!_

Aziraphale beamed up at him, “that sounds lovely! I’ll go get washed up, and I’ll meet you back here in say, 15 minutes?” 

“Mm,” Crowley nodded and turned sharply, quickly stalking up the path to his front door. 

Dragging himself back to the present and away from that blinding smile, Crowley forced his feet to move forward toward his bedroom. He paced frantically in front of his mirror, looking himself over and fiddling with his hair. He took it out of the messy bun, put it back up, and shook his head muttering. He stopped his pacing suddenly, staring at his reflection. Why was he freaking out? He never worried about what people thought of him. Well, he also never socialized of his own free will either (Anathema notwithstanding – he'd long ago accepted that she was a legitimate delight to be around, and actively looked forward to their weekly dinner dates.) 

He did another once over of his appearance – black leather boots, black trousers, and a deep purple v-neck. He untangled his hair from the bun, shaking it out and letting it cascade over his shoulders and frame his face. He pushed it back. Lifting his sunglasses, he peered critically into his bright yellow eyes. He opted to leave the shades on, not in the mood for dealing with people staring. 

Crowley looked at his watch – only seven minutes had passed. He groaned quietly, and grabbed a green plant mister off an end table and went about spraying his peace lilies. It wasn’t needed again, but he needed to keep his hands busy. He looked around his living room, searching for anything out of place. When Crowley first moved in, he had a complete renovation done of the whole inside. He always liked the sleek modern look and dark tones, but he kept a nice natural element to his surroundings, and he must say he’s always been quite pleased with the outcome. A mix of hardwood and marble flooring, grey and emerald wall paint, and a nice accent of darkly stained wood in the furniture. Plus the various plants towering above and vines snaking over the walls made him feel like he was in an elegant modern temple of some kind, with large windows letting sunlight in as many rooms as possible, and various statues and other works of art tastefully on display. 

Looking back to his watch, Crowley’s heart leapt into his throat, _what was wrong with him,_ and he grabbed his keys, wallet and locked up the front door. 

Aziraphale was standing at the end of his front path, hands in pocket and gazing up at the sky with a soft smile on his lips. When he saw Crowley exit his house, his smile widened. Crowley gulped slightly. 

“Ready to go then, my dear?” The blond asked, and Crowley nodded jerkily back. He motioned Aziraphale to follow him up to his garage and opened the door. _My dear._ Why did that make him feel strangely... fuzzy? 

Aziraphale gasped loudly, “My goodness, this is your car?” He looked at Crowley’s Bentley in awe. Crowley did love showing off his car, it always got a good reaction, and he smiled with pride. 

“Yep, fixed her up from rusty to damn near new myself. Took years, a lot of parts, and probably some years off my life as well.” 

Aziraphale then looked to him in wonder, “Crowley that’s amazing! She’s a beauty. You’re very talented I must say, those hands of yours can do amazing work.” At that comment, they both had the grace to blush, and Aziraphale cleared his throat awkwardly, continuing the conversation as they got situated in the vehicle. 

The short drive into town was comfortable, even if Crowley’s hands were sweating slightly on the steering wheel. Aziraphale chattered away, and wondered aloud about where some things in town were. Crowley decided to detour a little bit, pointing out to Aziraphale where some of the necessities were - post office, grocery store, etc. He circled back through a roundabout and headed for the café, parking on the street out front. 

Deja Brew had a cozy atmosphere – a must for any cafe, really – and was one of Crowley’s favourite places. There were bookshelves scattered throughout the building, against walls and forming small more enclosed sections with plush armchairs. Patrons could peruse the books to their liking, and since Crowley knew the manager he was even allowed to borrow some on occasion, provided he returned them with a small bouquet of fresh flowers for their display. His favourite lunch spot was in the back of the building that had an entire section of ceiling and walls made of glass, which the sun shone beautifully through. Otherwise, he enjoyed a private corner booth to relax in, which he was currently eyeing. He turned to face the chalkboard menu on the wall, and saw Aziraphale already distracted by the impressive display of pastries and other house-baked goods, with noticeable delight on his features. 

“Goodness, there are so many choices, I don’t know which one I’ll want for dessert.” Aziraphale mumbled to himself. 

Crowley chuckled, “Let’s maybe get dinner first, hm? You should try their cream of mushroom soup, it’s delicious.” Aziraphale tore himself away from the delectable looking pastries and read through the menu. 

They ordered their dinner at the counter, Crowley waving Aziraphale away when he tried to pay. “Think of it as a welcome to the neighborhood or... Whatever,” He insisted. Truthfully, Crowley just wanted to see that bright smile of his again. (He was not disappointed.) 

Crowley pointed to his preferred booth, and once Aziraphale was out of earshot, placed an order for a tray of dessert samplers to be brought out 30 minutes after their meal. He looked over at the booth, to Aziraphale who was making himself comfortable – and smiled. 

\- 

Before Crowley even knew it, 2 hours had passed by. The dessert platter had been picked through, with a few bites of cheesecake and strudel still lingering behind. This whole experience was entirely new for Crowley, who normally was exhausted by spending too much time around people, particularly those he didn’t know very well. But with Aziraphale, he felt as if he’d known this man forever. Talking with him felt like sliding two pieces of a puzzle together, that never should’ve been separated at all. It was easy, and comfortable. Crowley had worried at first he’d have nothing in common with Aziraphale, but was proven quite wrong. While they did have different hobbies and interests, it seemed like they could understand each other very easily and talk about damn near anything. 

Aziraphale had done most of the talking over the past couple hours, and Crowley was more than happy to listen. He’d learned quite a bit about the other man in such a short time; he used to own his own antique bookshop in Soho, and it pained him to let go of it, but London was tiring him out and he needed a change lest he lost his mind. He had a love of fine dining and cooking, and in his free time enjoyed hand-copying old and rare books and binding them himself. He enjoyed the calligraphy of it, and the creative artwork he could put in along the pages and covers. He tried taking up knitting once, and even though he was terrible at it, made uneven scarves for everyone he knew for Christmas one year. In his twenties, he learned to dance the Gavotte, and still wishes he had his dance group. (Crowley had no idea what the Gavotte was, but made a mental note to look it up later.) 

All in all, Crowley found Aziraphale to be an extremely charming man who spoke with a fierce passion about everything he loved. Crowley thought that he would never tire of hearing Aziraphale talk about how knitting was quite obviously witchcraft, and sweaters are made through dark magic only. 

“And what about you?” Aziraphale asked, after a lengthy rant about a man who tried to pass off a Zinfandel wine as a Malbec. ('_The bastard,_ last time I go wine tasting in America.') 

“Hmm? What about me?” Crowley wondered back. 

“Well, you don’t really strike me as the country type,” he gestured towards Crowley with his fork, a piece of caramel cheesecake speared on the end. “You look like you belong in some modern downtown flat, driving fast cars and working in high-rise buildings.” He popped the cake into his mouth. 

Crowley gave a laugh at that, “Well, you’re not entirely wrong, really. That’s who I used to be. Though, I do still drive fast cars,” he said with a wink. Not that Aziraphale noticed that, with Crowley’s eyes still hidden behind his dark glasses. Aziraphale leaned forward, folding his hands on the table and waited to hear Crowley’s story. 

“I used to work for a rather large pharmaceutical company in London, actually. Very big and well known, though you wouldn’t recognize the name, I’m sure. Anyway, it was a family-owned business, had been for generations. My family, that is.” Crowley looked out the window. It was dark now, and a steady rain was pattering against the glass. 

I started in as a low-level employee, fresh out of high school. Didn’t even give a thought to what I _wanted_ to do, not that it mattered. As far as my mother was concerned, my fate was theirs already. It didn’t take long for me to work my way up to a sales rep, I was very good, could talk anyone into anything. Manipulate people to my liking.” His voice bittered, “A trait I picked up from my mother, no doubt. 

Crowley paused to take a sip from his tepid coffee. “At some point, I started noticing things. Finances not adding up, stories not matching, unethical business practices. I started digging around, asking questions. I never uncovered the whole truth of what they were up to, but I found enough to know I wanted nothing to do with them anymore.” Crowley took a second to reflect on those years a bit. “So, virtually overnight, I became the family disappointment. I sold my flat, bought out my small share from the company, and fucked off to the country-side.” He paused, twirling a scarlet lock around his finger. “Started growing my hair out again, which pissed off mother very nicely.” He smiled, as did Aziraphale. “They tried for a few years to get me to come back. I was good for them, brought in a lot of money. But... I couldn’t keep doing that anymore. Once I realized how unethical most of their practices were... They realized eventually that I wasn’t changing my mind, and that I was quite happy with my ‘boring’ life in Tadfield, and they pretty much disowned me. Haven’t heard from them in over two years now.” Crowley kept his gaze towards the window, expression carefully blank. 

Aziraphale’s brows drew together sadly, and he reached across the table to rest his hand on top of Crowleys, who jumped slightly at the touch. “That’s so awful Crowley, truly I’m sorry." 

Crowley stared at their two hands, a little in shock. “Er... It’s alright, really. In the past now, and uh... Well, they’re all a bunch of pretentious arseholes anyway.” He finished awkwardly, trying to get his brain to function normally again. 

Aziraphale gave his hand a small squeeze before withdrawing it to cup his tea. Crowley continued to stare, a little dumbfounded. 

They stayed and chatted idly for a while longer, until Aziraphale noticed the staff casting irritated looks their way and stacking chairs around their table. 

“Ah my dear, it seems we’re in danger of overstaying our welcome here. Shall we?” He indicated the door. They gathered their coats, and Aziraphale threw a twenty on the table. (They got marginally less irritated looks from that.) 

Crowley led him out of the building and towards the Bentley, thankful the rain didn’t last too long. Without any thought, he opened the passenger door for Aziraphale, who beamed up at him before settling in his seat. Crowley walked around the front of the car, willing his heart to slow down to a more reasonable pace. 

The ride back to their area was a peaceful five-minute drive, and Crowley had his window down to feel the night air ruffle his hair back. The night was full of cricket song, and the occasional sound of a car driving down the wet pavement. He never stopped appreciating the quiet here. 

The Bentley pulled into the garage, and Crowley and Aziraphale stepped out to stand in the warm orange glow cast over Crowley’s front-drive. 

“Thank you for dinner Crowley,” Aziraphale said, turning towards him. “I really had a lovely time this evening. 

“Yeah, I did too.” Crowley replied. And he meant it. 

“I really look forward to being your neighbor, and getting to know you more.” Aziraphale smiled lightly. He fidgeted a bit, clasping his hands in front of him. He looked like he wanted to say something for a moment, then - “Well, I best be off. Lots more unpacking to do tomorrow, and it's been a while since I've had a good night's rest. So, I wish you a good night my dear.” He turned and walked down the path, turning onto the sidewalk towards his house. 

“...Goodnight,” Crowley said a bit delayed. He stood watching after the man until he appeared in his own yard. After climbing his steps, Aziraphale turned to wave at him again. Crowley raised his hand, still stuck in the driveway and only managing to shake himself out of it once Aziraphale had gone inside. 

Crowley locked up his garage, went inside and went about his normal nightly routine. Only once he was in bed, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling did he let himself think over the entire evening. And thinking over definitely didn’t mean that he grabbed a pillow, held it over his face and screamed into it. Nope, he was a rational adult who knew how to handle feelings. 

Feelings which, after over an hour of tossing and turning about, came to the conclusion that Anthony J Crowley was good and truly _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I've decided that my goal here is to create the cheesiest fluffiest thing ever. And I would really love any suggestions that people have! I want to have fun with this story, and I don't want to take it too seriously. So really, if anyone has any ideas about what these idiots could get up to, don't hesitate to send me an ask (I would of course fully credit any ideas!!!)  
Find me on tumblr, askullinmyfishbowl.tumblr.com  
Disclaimer: I don't know anything about anything. I don't know shit about wine, old books or cars. So I'm gonna be winging it with most things, and frantically googling the others.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm Canadian, and have never once in my life been anywhere near Europe, let alone England, so I'm doing my best here. If I'm using a term wrong, or something just seems off, don't hesitate to tell me! Also, if you notice any spelling or gramatical errors, feel free to point them out. I haven't done any real writing in YEARS so I may be a little rusty.  
Yes, their meeting is based off that one text post, because I find it hilarious. I know there's a comic of it drawn with these two somewhere, but I can't find the source. And yes, Loki is 100% based on my own cat. We named him that and regret it immediately.


End file.
